Residue

I've been given choices
to heed to their voices.
When I don't know what path,
why do they question that?

Thrown over in tides,
I sink with what's mine.
Petty trivialities
shadow my realities.

Born with wings that blanket,
they burned, no complacent
form of commodity
to dig out inside me.

So old the new pain
showers down the same.
Flooding depths consume
into this deep dune.

I own and I owe and I owe and I owe
what little breathless seeds left for me to sew.

Despite, the pendulums
continue into dust
to cloud this light of mine
into what's left of time.

I've been mending my bones
behind the choking growth.
When you see what is left,
why do they question that?